till death do us part
by Senzafine
Summary: In this world, there's more than just pain and regret. There's also love. [till death do us part] drabbles about every FFVII pairing ever imagined, with special emphasis on Yuffietine and Cloti.
1. fruit

_Author's notes: I decided to revamp "till death do us part". Now the drabbles will all be centered on one theme each chapter, with different drabbles in each chapter. I hope you all enjoy them! Beware, some of the drabbles will have mature content and focus on some of the less popular pairings. _

**Fruit**  
_Love is a fruit in season at all times, and within reach of every hand. _–Mother Teresa

**I: mangoes **

She fed me a piece of mango, her fingers barely touching my lips, a butterfly kiss that filled my head with flashes of light. It's winter, the harsh wind and sheets of snow, blanketing everything with silence. I can taste summer in the fruit, in her eyes as she leans back against her chair.

I'm a broken man, I know this each time I hear the screech of my wheelchair against wood floors and feel the weight of my legs dragging when I get into bed.

He said softly, "Elena, time to make our reports to Tseng," She nods, smiles at me and is gone, just like that.

I stare into Rude's face, the sunglasses that hold a reflection of me staring after her, watching her walk away. I don't bother to hide it because I know that he knows.

I'm a broken man.

**II: dried**

What she did to him was leave him dry.

That's what he wanted to tell everyone when they asked him why he was so goddamn moody all the time, why he was so aloof and so standoffish. He didn't know how to explain the feeling that was so profound, it sank into his feet and followed him wherever he walked. And when he lay in bed, trying to sleep, sometimes his hands ran themselves absent-mindedly over his hair, back and forth, stroking the long, black locks. His claw would nick the tender skin of his scalp and only then did he know for sure that he was still breathing, still a part of this world.

He was a shriveled husk of what he once was. In more ways than one.

Leaning back in his chair, he watches Tifa cooking dinner, Cloud standing by her, one hand against the small of her back. Cloud was always so possessive; he wishes he could have some of Cloud's fierce determination to protect prized possessions.

Instead, he sits in corners and thinks about the only time he felt alive and full and real. It happened so long ago, but in his mind, he could summon the details, even down to the scent of her perfume, as if it was only yesterday. (In his mind, it was).

In a creaky bed in a room as small as a closet, they moved as one, folding and unfolding in the shadows. She first whispered and then moaned his name and when it was all over, he collapsed against her and felt starlight in her hair. When she cried, he licked her tears away and swore they tasted like wine.

The memory of her body, as wet and as tender as a silver minnow caught in the net of his arms, was so fragrant and so real, it drained him dry. He refused to believe she didn't love him; her eyes that night swore devotion only to him.

Tifa's voice washed over him, shattering his thoughts, "Vincent, ready for dinner?"

He paused to throw the apple he was eating into the wastebasket. Wiping a small dribble of apple juice from his mouth, he stood quickly, sending his hair flying over his shoulders.

"Coming."

**III: basket**

Goddamn her.

Goddamn piece of shit, knowing exactly when I run out of clean shirts and pairs of socks. Can't even walk into my own bedroom without smelling the flowers she put on the dresser. Can't even look out of the window without seeing the wash, hanging out to dry.

But most of all, goddamn how she looks right now, hanging clothes on the line, wearing that white dress. Just had to be singing, and with no shoes on.

I remember it; everyone's mother sings that same fuckin' lullaby. In a town this small, you go out to take a piss, and you're peeing on someone's head. Everyone always does everything someone else did, years and years ago. It'll keep on going because you know, its tradition. Load of bull.

Except this time, she's singing to my child. And that's what makes it different.

After all these years of running, it had to be Shera, who got me eating out of the palm of her hand, so caught up that when I'm not with her, my head's a mess . She knows she's got me.

Goddamn it.

**IV: crushed**

Don't ask him about his love life.

Ask him about how many people he's murdered, erasing them from existence with a quick snap of his arms and he'll gladly answer. Ask him how to sharpen brass knuckles with a regular kitchen knife, and he won't just answer you, he'll show you how to do it. Ask him about the formation of mako and how it can be transferred into regular electricity for everyday usage, and he'll give a dissertation that could last for ten, twenty minutes.

But his love life, don't bother.

It would be a mockery of everything his blue suit and night-tinted glasses stood for, if anyone found out the truth. Even Reno didn't know. He guarded secrets well.

Like the pot of jasmine flowers he watered religiously every day. It had to be jasmine, because that's what she smelled like, white flowers that scented the air in a gentle way.

Because she loved children, he tried to be nicer to them, practicing on Marlene and Denzel every time he had the chance. Everyone talks about Cloud missing her, about how much pain he carries on his shoulders.

He has it even worse than Cloud. Everyone knows Cloud loved her. For him, it was a secret and because he knew how to guard secrets, burying them deep in his chest, no one could possibly understand how his heart aches.

The sunglasses, the silver earrings, the rings he wore, he knew they were nothing more than a front, just armor to hide how often he thought of her.

**V: apple martini**

It was never a good idea to get Yuffie drunk, simply because she could never hold her liquor. It was a well known fact that women like her were what they like to call an easy lay. Just let her drown a few drinks, say something nice about her hair or her outfit and bring her home for a quick fuck.

Maybe that's why they asked him to accompany her every time she went to a bar. They couldn't have Vincent do it, probably thinking that Yuffie would act ridiculously horny and try to grope him, and Tifa wouldn't let Marlene hang around Cloud alone for more than a few hours, let alone a vivacious, drunk ninja.

So the task fell on him, and crushing his cigarette against the ashtray on the bar, he sighed, lifting the locks of brilliant red hair that danced across his face.

"RENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO." When she drank, her face turned bright red and her voice rose higher and higher in pitch. "PLEASE DON'T TELL VINNIE I'M –" But whatever she was going to say was cut short as she fell over the bar, spilling the bright green drink she held in one hand. A river of the green stuff spilled onto his shoulder as he leaned forward to gather her in his arms.

"Yo, that stuff ain't good for you."

They only just reached the doorway of her bedroom, him carrying Yuffie in a giggling, swearing frenzy in his arms, when she suddenly reached up, grabbing his hair with one eager hand.

"YER HAIR'S SO PRETTY!"

Lucky for her, he didn't believe in easy lays, no matter how much Rufus and Rude beg to differ. It wouldn't have been good anyway, that much he knew as he placed a tall glass of water on the squat table that stood near her bed. What he wanted was something no amount of liquor could ever make her do.

He wanted her to look at him the same way she looked at Vincent.

His good night rang through the silent room. He turned off the light and closed the door firmly behind him.


	2. ghost

**Ghost**  
_True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about but few have seen. – _Francois de La Rochefoucauld

**I: question**

"Vincent?"  
"Yes, Yuffie?"

They were sitting on the deck of the airship, swinging their legs freely over the railings, their feet bitten by the quick wind that tore through the sky. The sun was high above their heads, in the very center of the pale blue sky, kissed with fat clouds.

She turned to him and said, "There's a bet goin' on."

"About what?"

Yuffie finished the last of her ice cream cone, throwing back her head to catch the little triangle of crisp cone. The wind blew his bangs lightly across his face and sent the pages of the book he was reading fluttering and waving back and forth.

"50 says your claw ain't nothing but decoration."

At that, Vincent had to shake his head, hanging it low in utter disappointment. It's been over two years and still, all they could focus on was the most monstrous elements of his body and soul. His voice sounded like acid when he replied, "They're right. It's just something I wear." She paused to stare up at the sky above, one hand slanted to protect her eyes from the glare of the sun. She asked, "Can I see it?"

"What?"

"Your left hand. No one ever seen it before."

Of course, he was taken back by the request and promptly shook his head no. She laughed and stood, wiping off the crumbs of her ice cream cone from her lap. And she said, without even turning to look at him, "Someday, you'll show me. Ya know, parts of you no one's seen."

She leaned forward, to brush aside a piece of his hair from his head, her fingers pausing slightly to touch the very tip of his nose. He wanted to tell her that her love for him was nothing but illusion. Soon, he'll push her hand away and say there's no reason for her to follow him, like some lovesick child hungry, a child he couldn't feed.

But for now, he was content on silently sitting there, looking up at Yuffie as her hand gently wandered over his lips, her fingers asking the question.

This time, he didn't know what to say as she leaned even closer and brushed her lips against his. It was a kiss that tasted of vanilla and of the sky, high above.

**II:** **linger**

I wonder what he wants from me.

His eyes are not Cloud's; they are of a finer blue, of the sea after it swallowed a ship and all the life in it. His hair was even longer than mine, of silver that shone even when no light was on it.

I see him watching me from the corner, darkness that wraps loving arms around his slender body. His mouth is a harsh cut, a jagged line of malice that severed the porcelain beauty of his face. All I can do is clasp my hands in prayer, closing my eyes against the temptation. I wait; he waits as well, his breaths mimicking my own.

My mother once said all things are capable of love. I don't want to know what he's thinking, watching me. If he can love, that alone will kill me.

**III**: **belief**

Every night at around eleven o'clock, Denzel falls asleep in the living room, his head bobbing lightly over his toys. He would smile and gather the sleeping boy in his arms, breathing in deep the scent of Denzel; of the grass from the backyard, of cookies he stole without Tifa knowing and the wax of the crayons he used to make pictures for Marlene.

Cloud knows, as he stares into the open canvas of Denzel's sleeping face, that he's bounded to this boy.

When Cloud can finally start believing, without a trace of doubt or fear, that things really will be okay; when that day comes, he will call Denzel his son.

His whole life once hurt, now Cloud can find peace listening to Denzel's breaths as he sleep, dreaming of places far away. Cloud leans forward and kisses Denzel lightly on the forehead. Soon, the boy will be eight, too old for kisses and cuddles.

He's already practicing being a man, carrying sticks in his fists and waving them high over his head. He turns his face away when Tifa kisses him good-night. The sudden flush of his cheeks and the swell of his little chest when he sees Marlene makes Cloud laugh.

When he is near him, Cloud forgets that he ever hated life.

"Sorta cute, isn't he?" Cloud turned to see Tifa leaning against Denzel's doorframe, her hands busy untying the apron she wore around her waist. "Little bugger gets away with everything."

"My fault, I'm spoiling him rotten." Cloud brushed aside one of Denzel's bangs and stood from his crouch near the boy's bed. He walked over to Tifa, his arm reaching out to wrap around her waist. She fit against the crook of his elbow as if she was always meant to be there.

She reached up to lay a hand lightly against Cloud's cheek. "It's okay. All fathers do."

**IV:** **illusion**

When you create something, you love it.

I destroyed his life, took away anything that was even remotely human in him. I conquered his woman, marking her with my seed and made the child that should have been his. I hear his steps, the iron striking against the staircase as he climbs up and up to meet me. Funny how he's moving up, towards the heavens even, to send me to hell. As a child, I love horror films, of winged monsters that ate away pathetic humans, of nightmares that materialized into flesh and rusty steel, hungry for blood. What I did to him was a gift.

I can see his shadow, the cape that flaps in the sudden surge of wind, striking against the metal bars of the tower. His figure is one of shadows and darkness, a presence fit to bring me into an ecstasy that heralds my death.

He is my creation and belongs only to me.

**V: fake**

He took Vincent's head in the vise of his left arm. Overhead, the ceiling fan whirled lazily creating more sound than wind. He hiccupped, sending a plume of alcohol into Vincent's face. The beer bottles clicked against the bar as he grabbed fistfuls of Vincent's hair and yanked at them, laughing manically as he did so.

"YOU LOOK LIKE A GIRL."  
"Shut your mouth, Cloud."

The bar was filled with people, mostly men who struggled to catch a glimpse (or even more than that) of Tifa as she served cold glasses of beer and tiny dishes of salted peanuts. Vincent was slowly realizing that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to go to Seventh Heaven even if Cloud invited him under the ruse that it was a business meeting of utter importance. That's what Cloud said, "utter importance". Vincent should have known; Cloud never talked like that unless he was trying to hide something.

In the two hours since they first pulled up stools at the bar, Cloud managed to down six bottles of beer and three shots of whiskey. Vincent still lingered over his first gin and tonic, served with four slices of lime. What could he say? Vincent liked his liquor like he liked his life; bitter with a sour aftertaste.

"Okay – listen!" When Cloud got drunk, his eyes glistened as if he was on the verge of tears. The way he talked, the way he slammed his fists and waved off whatever words Vincent tried to say, was reminiscent of how Cloud once was, before Aeris' death; loud, cocky and filled with energy that bordered on the edge of recklessness. "You're a goddamn fake."

He burped and leaned his head against his raised left hand. His blond head swayed back and forth as a smile spread across his face, the corners of his upturned mouth pressing hard against his cheeks. And he sang out, "Fake, fake, fake!"

Vincent gritted his teeth together, lifting his drinking glass to his lips. He took a small gulp of his drink, barely tasting the liquor and shook his head. "You're even worse than Cid."

"YOU'RE MORE WORSER THAN CID! AT LEAST HE'S GETTING MARRIED!"

Cloud jabbed a finger into the air above their heads and titled his head back to finish off his sixth beer. Vincent wanted to raise a hand as well, not to emphasis his words, but rather to signal Tifa to come rescue him from the babbling drunk rambles of Cloud. At times like this, he completely regrets that for more than a year, he devoted his life to follow the orders of this short smart-ass with a major grudge. It was frightening really, Vincent thought as he sipped at his drink, how much life can change in so short a time.

"I know," Cloud paused to let a loud belch escape his mouth, "why you and Yuffie ain't fucking like rabbits yet."

"Because I don't want to, perhaps?"

"LI-AR! It's cause you don't want nobody to think ya a pedophile." Cloud nodded even though Vincent's face read all sorts of threats and insults if he continued to speak, "She's what.. oh man, eighteen, nineteen right? Where you at? Sixty, seventy? What the hell! Hojo's a sick bitch!"

"Continue speaking, Cloud and I promise you a world of hurt –"

"But think, man, think about this. Ya can't wait for Shelke to grow up, man. That's just gross. She ain't Lucrecia." He burped again, and reached to pat Vincent on the head, "Living in the past ain't getting you nowhere."

And before Cloud passed out, sending up a shower of peanuts everywhere and empty bottles clattering onto the floor, he managed to say, "Vincent, you just scared."

Vincent polished off his drink in one sudden gulp before he stood to pull one of Cloud's limp arms around his shoulders. Just his luck; Cloud not only gets royally drunk each and every time they meet up to reminisce about old fights but he also is an existentialist with a blunt, perceptive view of things Vincent swore no one knew.

Damn.

**VI**: **sighting**

He caught them kissing over a sink piled high with dirty dishes.

He didn't know what to do, so he pulled on boots and his jacket and went outside.

She was waiting for him, by the tree, carrying her metal lunchbox with one hand. There was a gap in her front teeth when she smiled and when he reached out to take her gloved hand in his, she smiled wide.

"Hey, 'Zel."

Though he seen them kissing lots of times, it was a different thing all together to lean forward on his tiptoes and try to mush his lips against hers. "HEY!" Marlene pushed Denzel off of her, jamming her lunchbox into the pit of his stomach. "That's gross!"

For all the times he saw them kissing, it wasn't as fun as he thought it was. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning, grabbed a hold of Marlene's pigtails and gave them a gentle yank.

"Now you've got my cooties!"  
"YUCKY! COME BACK HERE 'ZEL!"


End file.
